Shifting Worlds
by LeShyWolf
Summary: After a freak storm, I'm shipwrecked in Thedas with nothing but my clothes on my back, and my tenacity to survive. My friend is missing. All hope seems lost. I just need to push forward.
1. Chapter 1

_Thirst._

I was unbearably and very noticeably thirsty.

I rolled my tongue to the roof of my mouth to find it was uncomfortably dry, a texture resembling sandpaper. That was the first thing that I registered. The second was the shot of hazy confusion when it became a struggle to open my eyes. It was a hindrance to move . My legs and my arms felt weighed down. My bed felt different. Disturbingly so. The mattress was stiffer, my blankets rougher. My pillows didn't feel like duck-feather-stuffed-cases. It also wasn't warm. The room was oddly chilly. This tidbit part of information only managed to make me more addled.

 _….what in the world?_

There was a nearby creak, and I groaned - it must be Mia sneaking around my room. My spine tensed when a voice I didn't find familiar at all sliced into the silence.

"Mama!" it shouted, followed quickly by the sound of a chair being pushed backwards, then the pitter patter of feet, –small feet– running away. "Mama! She's waking up!"

It sounded like it came from someone young, someone about Mia's age. Maybe it was her friend, but that wouldn't explain why he was calling for "mama". I needed to have a word with her about the boundaries of letting strangers into my room- especially when I was asleep.

Craning my head to the side, I finally peeled open my eyes.

And froze.

My startled eyes snapped around the unrecognizable room, body still as a statue for a few mouth-breathing moments before I forced myself up. An alarmed wince hissed out between my teeth, muscles screaming a big fuck you for trying to move. My motions were stiff, and I slowly looked down, blinking a few times when I discovered the reason it didn't feel like my bed.

Because, A, it wasn't my bed.

Which only begged the question circling around my currently fried brain.

B, _Who does it belong to?_

I rose my gaze and allowed it to drift around the room, to find more questions following suit. The more prominent few being; Where the hell am I ?Did I sleep walk into someone's house?

The latter thought processed and I scrapped it. This wasn't a Goldilocks scenario. I had no memories of too-small or too-big with the final just-right . Nothing was just-right .

Everything was blindingly bright, though it may have been due to the fact I just scarcely reached consciousness. The sun poured in from the window- which was next to the not-my-bed . I had to look twice when I saw the material of the ceiling, which was apparently made of straw , the kind picked by the affluent people who had the money to throw around and desired a more rustic look for their home. The room wasn't simply rustic , I noted, eyes taking in the candle sitting on a small table beside the bed. Or impoverished . The closest word I could come up to describe it would be anachronistic, a house that looked like it belonged to some Luddite.

 _What sort of backwater place is this?_

A shiver ghosted my spine and I rubbed my bare arms. Goosebumps spiked on my skin, gullet tightening when I saw that I wasn't wearing my ordinary, worn, sheep patterned pyjamas. Instead, the clothing I wore clearly wasn't mine, an ill-fitting and poorly maintained dress with no sleeves, its texture a little coarse and itchy around my armpits.

 _Who do these belong to? Who did this room belong to? Who dressed me?_

I didn't want to think about it.

Pivoting my body to the side, I swung my legs off the edge and peered through the squared window, flinching at the cold floor.

"What- " my mouth closed. I grimaced at the sound of my own hoarse whisper, finding discomfort when I tried to speak.

I was thrown off by the sights outside, and felt a pang of unease. My first impression was that I was somewhere in the countryside, or somewhere like Wales . Large fields, with so many more trees than back home. A blanket of green, with herbs scattered across the plane. The sky was dull, rolling over with various patches of grey and a very light blue.

 _Same British weather_ , I thought to myself wryly.

In the corner of my eye, a figure moved into the open door and I jumped, feeling my back pressing against the very solid wall, putting a small distance from the unexpected visitor and myself.

The person who entered the room was a woman, blonde hair tucked in a loose bun, with a few messy strands poking out in every direction. In the middle of her face was a long, straight nose. On the corner of her chin, there was a dark mole. Chocolate eyes stared at me from underneath unusually unkempt eyebrows on a broad forehead. She wasn't necessarily unattractive, but she certainly had an odd look about her.

What caught my eye was her clothes. A simple green thigh-length frock that resembled the rash inducing material of my current clothes, the dress mildly complimented by the corset tightly accentuating her waist. Clothing that looked like she just walked out from a renaissance fair , dressed in a fashion from a bygone era. Just like the house, they pair off almost nicely.

A shorter person, with the familiar pattern of small feet, trailed after them. A petite hand gripped onto the woman's long skirt and a pair of shy, green eyes peered out from behind it. Judging by the crows feet forming at her eyes, mild wrinkles on her pale complexion - I guessed the woman was older, and by the way she was shielding the young one from view I gave a fair assumption it was her kid or little brother.

"Jonathan, go wait in the church with Sister Adelaide." She firmly broke the uncertain silence. An odd twang to her voice. She watched me carefully, but addressed the hiding child.

"But mama-" he began to speak his defiance, his jaw clamping shut when she shot him a singular look. The little boy nodded his head, if a little begrudgingly, and quickly jogged away. This only confirmed the obvious; her kid .

My eyes followed the little boy until he was gone from sight, before shooting back to the stranger. She also appeared to be watching but turned her head to me, her hand pulling the handle without removing her sceptical gaze off me. The door closed with a click. There was a pregnant pause. My heart lifted into my throat when she suddenly whirled to face me. Face relatively friendly, but dark eyes analytical. She rose stiff arms to cross along her chest. "What's yer name, stranger?"

Still on the bed, I slowly put my feet to the cold, wooden floorboards, leaving my hands either side of my legs to grip the edges of the cruddy bed. My mind was still hazy, and it was difficult to gather my bearings enough to answer her inquiry. A moment later, a rough hand pressed against my shoulder gently. "I don't suggest getting up yet, just this morn' yer lips were blue as a whale's. Body still needs to rest."

 _Why does my head feel ready to split open?_

My eyebrows dipped at the uncomfortable contact. My mind was buzzing with questions that I decided to relay to her, despite the annoyance it was to speak with a parched throat and dried tongue. "Who are you?" I cast a hasty look around once more, settling my eyes back on her face. "What happened to me?"

"Yolande," she introduced, the firm edges to her wary gaze softened slightly. "Can't really say what happened to ya since I ain't got no clue myself. Goidermar, me 'usband, told me he fished ya out the sea, said he found you clinging onto a piece of driftwood, he did. Body cold like a corpse. Thought you were one too, till you coughed."

Excuse me?

A pause, to process her accent and the words she spun. I reeled back, as far as I could into the mattress, and stared at the woman. "What ?"

"As I said before, young'en," The lady must have seen the look on my face that I was sending her, because her mouth curved into a frown. "Need I repeat me'self? Ye were shipwrecked, m'love."

My eyes fixated on hers, brain stuttering. My thoughts rushed in an unstoppable tsunami, overwhelming me to the point I couldn't force the breath into my lungs. Images played in my head. Puzzle pieces that didn't take me too long to put together.

 _The scent of the salt water was soothing. My dress swayed lightly in the breeze. I wrapped my fingers around the cold, metallic railing and leaned on my toes, droplets sprinkled onto my cheeks._

No.

 _The huge, white vessel charged. Strong. It sliced through the ocean with relative ease, seawater curling and slashing violently against the big body._

Holy shit.

I **was** on a boat.

Was it true? Did the boat sink? What happened?

My gut clenched to a sickening grip and the disgusting taste of bile burned in my mouth. I swung my legs off the bed, throwing the scratchy blanket to the floor. "Fer cryin' out loud-!" The woman raised her voice, her lilt more prominent when she did so, shoving me back onto the bed. "Ya ain't well enough, stay down ya bleedin' cretin!"

But I couldn't pay attention to her. The tightness was nauseating. I slapped my hand over my mouth, fighting it. The woman in front of me quickly caught on, and moved away. A few seconds later she shoved a bucket in my face. I hurled. The vomit violently plummeted into the bottom of the pail, my hands turning pale when grasping the edges. The woman kindly held up my hair so it wouldn't get caught in the mess.

Shipwrecked.

It wasn't… possible.

But I thought back. Flashes abundantly flickered through my hazy brain. _There was a storm._

 _Dark clouds rolled over. Blinding green light. A horrifying roar followed. Bellowing cries. A frightening crack, the sail caught flame, panicked eyes flickering to me-_

My breath hitched.

I lifted my head, opening my lips to ask her another question. The flowing puke cut me off, spilling out. My abdomen tensed and I choked. By the time I was done, she took the bucket and offered me a wooden mug filled with water. My hands quivered, legs like jelly. Everything felt weak, and I hated it.

"Keep takin' sips missy." She ordered, helping my legs back up onto the bed. I gingerly leaned back, listening to her. " Ey, see? I did warn ya didn't I? " She put the blanket back over me, using a tone that reminded me of a stern mother scolding their child. "Yer body is still weak, so don' try tha' again."

I did as she said and tentatively sipped from the mug, wincing at the burn still in my throat and the nasty taste staining my mouth. When she was done fussing over me, I made it a mental note to ask if she had a spare toothbrush.

She knelt by the floor, picking the bucket up by it's handle. When she came back with it emptied, I nodded toward her in thanks. She grunted and sat down. The bed dipped down under her weight. "Thank you."

"No problem, lass," Yolande dismissed with ease, her lips thinning. "Jus' take it easy there, yeah? Ya been through an ordeal, ain't ya? Would do no good to hurt yer'self."

I couldn't concentrate well. The sound of my friend's frantic yells rang in my skull.

"Can I just ask…" her concerned expression merged with curiosity. I cleared my throat, curling and fidgeting with my fingers around the mug handle. "… was anyone with me?" My voice stuttered. "-m-my friend was on the boat. His name is Dean."

An icy trepidation trickled down the back of my neck when I saw the pitiful glint. Please tell me he's not- "Sorry love, my 'usband found no one else with ya. Ye were by ya lonesome."

 _He's not… he can't…_

A sort of numb fog clouded my mind and I shook my head. My chest squeeze in pain. "Are you-" my voice broke, I coughed and sharply inhaled. "Are you certain? No one? "

Yolande's softening eyes gazed at me with sympathy. A lump formed in my throat and I wanted her to stop. "Not a clue, wouldn't know until me 'usband gets back with some others from the village. They wen' out to see if they can find anyone else after he brought ya in."

 _This can't be happening._

"When are they back?" I quickly asked, asking again with a sharper tone than intended when she took too long to answer, she didn't seem bothered. "When are they back? "

"Latest by dusk, right now it's barely noon."

Breathing was important. I had to breathe. It was hard, but I managed to force myself to calm down a bit, deeply inhaling and exhaling in an attempt to control my heartbeat, which was haywire right now.

Yolande obviously sensed my distress and reached out, calloused hand holding onto my small fingers. For a moment, she was taken aback, by what I didn't know, but she quickly overcame it. "Ye'll be alright, lass."

I knew that worrying myself would just cause stress, yet I couldn't help the reverting nausea. A dizzy spell swirling around me. I tensely nodded and laid back down, pressing my head against the bed frame.

"Where did I wash up, anyway?" I wondered aloud to Yolande, trying to distract my mind from the morbid images manifesting in my head. "Where are we?"

There was the case I didn't have my passport. I didn't have money. My own phone was most likely dead from all the water. Judging by how nice Yolande has been so far she'd most likely let me use hers.

Her answer threw me off. "Outskirts of Bergen, Barony of Stralsund."

I blinked at her, starting to fear just how far I was from home. I was never good at geography. Yolande spoke English so that was at least a saving grace, though it sounded reminiscent of old Cockney. "Never … uh, heard of it."

"West o' Kirkwall, just shy o' the Planasene Forest."

As far as I was concerned she was mainly speaking gibberish. The only part of that I comprehended in my emotional, weak state was Kirkwall. I faintly registered the name, and knew it sounded distantly familiar. Kirkwall… Kirkwall… where have I -

 _Wait. No way. Kirkwall. As in the Orkney islands of **Scotland?**_

"Holy shit," I choked on my spit, breaking into a coughing fit. "Kirkwall? "

"Long way from home, then?" She inquired, and I faintly registered my small nod.

"Something like that," I mumbled under my breath, pulling the blanket up to my chin in a poor attempt to comfort myself. I couldn't snug into this. It was too… itchy.

"Sorry to 'ear that," she said, though it sounded more matter of factly than anything else. "I would suggest ya try talkin' to the port authority in Kirkwall, but the city's some way off, and the roads ain't very safe these days. Doubt they'll be much of a help 'owever, lately they can't even look after a warehouse without half the goods getting stolen right under them noses. But it's something I suppose."

Sounded like the authorities here were having trouble keeping things under control. Don't tell me this was one of those small towns where some criminal kingpin had more power than the local mayor/governor and owned the town in all but name. Not exactly a comforting thought, especially in the middle of nowhere.

I pursed my lips, a thought popping into mind. "Have you got a phone I can borrow?"

"Phone? What's that?"

 _Wait, what?_ I blinked, and stared at her, waiting for her confused face to break out into a cheesy smile and say ' _gotcha bitch'_ but she continued to give me the most befuddled look. _What on earth? She isn't aware of phones? Is she… like, Amish or a Luddite or something? Were Amish even aware of technology, or did they just forbid themselves from going near? Was I that ignorant? Was she in a medieval cult?_

"Phone." I started, hoping she was just having a brain fart. I held my hand up to my ear, thumb up and pinkie outstretched in a gesture to mimic the shape of a phone. My voice became unsure. "You know, used for the ring ring, apps, Facebook, Youtube, social media as a whole…" Her face remained blank. "A communication device…?"

Sheesh. I knew some people in the world had it hard, but she didn't even know what it was? Was she poor? Was this place some third world country? My worries about my exact location were magnified. Did this mean I couldn't even get a payphone nearby? Was this a place of violence if the rules were broken and ruled by tyranny.

 _I'm still in Scotland, right?_

"Payphone?" I tried after her perplexed glance. Her look didn't change. "Similar to a phone, but usually found randomly in the street."

I stared in disbelief, when no recognition registered.

"What yer describin' -It sounds like magic ." Where one who hasn't heard of such a thing before, instead of the look of awe and cynicalism one would expect, her look took on an entirely different one. Her melting chocolate eyes hardened, unease clearly flickering across her face.

"More like modern technology." I corrected, starting to wonder if she was in a cult. One that didn't approve of such devices. It brought up a question about my own, but I held my tongue at the sharp narrow of her eyes. Something told me she wouldn't take too kindly to me owning a phone.

"Sounds like a bunch of magic, if ya ask me."

Her abundant dislike had soured the air to an awkward manner, and I really wanted to leave. A question slapped me in the face then.

Why didn't she bring me to a hospital? Why bring me to her house? Why not a doctor? Unless she was one. Still, why not a hospital? Where it's clean, where it's got a bunch of needed equipment around. Why didn't she phone an ambulance? Or was I not worse enough to be brought to a hospital?

"Are you a nurse?" I asked.

Her brow creased. "No."

Frustrated, I swatted my hand. "Nevermind."

I left that where it was, knowing I had to leave as soon her husband was back. If she didn't even know about medical professions, modern electronics and lived in an incredibly old fashioned hut, I doubted she was able to help me much further.

 _Just need to wait for her husband._


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you never told me us your name, love."

I swallowed the slightly stale piece of bread, looking up from my plate. "Oh, sorry." I sheepishly said, then felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards. "My name is Ella," My smile spread wider, as I picked up another piece. "I have to say, Yolande. I'm glad we met."

"S'lright," she briefly leaned over to dap a napkin over Jonathan's lips, admonishing him softly over something my ears couldn't quite catch. "Was brought up by ma folk to treat others as I would have them treat me. If it were me out there I wouldn't want to be ignored either."

"Still, thank you," I picked up the spoon beside my plate, digging it into the odd stew. I didn't want to seem rude. I caught Jonathan staring and smiled lightly at him. He quickly averted his eyes. "How old is your son?"

"Seven," she smiled ruefully as she patted the boy on the head, before ruffling his hair slightly. The action drew a cute pout from the child, even more so when he tried to glare at his mother with a bread in his mouth. "Though he still acts like he's three sometimes."

His cheeks flamed. "No I don't!"

"You know," I caught his attention, trying to ease his embarrassment. "When I was your age, I used to have this really big kite. I brought it out in the field with my uncle all the time. It made all the other kids jealous."

His nose crinkled. "What's a kite?"

My eyes widened. "You don't know what a kite- oh my, you're missing out."

"What? Missing out on what?" He questioned, and I saw the glimmer of excitement in his green eyes as he leaned forward eagerly, waiting impatiently for my answer.

"How do I explain this…" I pursed my mouth, and glanced over to Yolande, who was watching the exchange with mild amusement. "It's like this big sheet," I held out my arms. "Attached to bits of wood to give it shape, and a _very_ long string."

"That sounds boring." He scoffed, pouting.

"You haven't heard the good part yet!" I teased. "When you run, you have to hold it out like this-" I picked up the spoon, using it to demonstrate. "-and it'll make the kite fly." his eyes perked up with interest. "Mine was the coolest because it looked like a _dragon_."

"What?" He squeaked, looking at me with disbelieving eyes. "No way! I don't believe you."

"If you want, after dinner-" I felt my mouth twitch, and looked at Yolande. "And if your mother says so, we can make you one."

"Mama!" he pleaded, already giving her the classic puppy eyes. She rolled her own, and put her hand on his head.

"I suppose, my little man." Her expression hardened to stern, and she bopped him on the nose with her finger. "But eat yer dinner first."

"But mama-!" he whined, but relented at her look and pouted, shovelling his food into his mouth. I released a laugh.

My heart skipped a beat when the sound of the door and heavy footsteps reached my ears, followed by a gruff, barrel chested man walking in. "Evening luv," he greeted, voice sounding drained as he hung his coat up on a hook beside the door, a small breeze followed him.

"Papa!" the kid practically leapt off the chair, his elbow hitting the bowl and nearly overturning it in the process. He ran over to the gruff man, jumping into his arms, laughing as he was lifted up and spun around a few times.

I sat up, dropping my spoon into my bowl. That has to be her husband. The chair legs behind me screeched along the floorboards when I sharply stood. My eyes frantically searched behind him, flickering over to the man's face almost pleadingly.

 _Dean? Where-_

"Oh?" he finally looked my way, noticing me for the first time. "Who's this lass?"

"She's a lass, papa?" I paused in my pursuit, gawking at the boy.

"What manner of question is that? Course she is."

"No she's not!" the boy argued back. "You told me lassie's have tits!"

Yolande's warming smile quickly melted into a scowl as she stared daggers at her husband. His eyes widened to an almost comical level, skin paling, and he held up his hands, as if surrendering. He stammered. "L-lad, wha-"

" _Goidermar_ ," she hissed, her voice practically dripping with venom.

Despite the fact I was fairly sized (and a little annoyed) I ignored the boy's remark about my chest and stepped forward, cutting in before things got ugly. "I'm the girl that you helped this morning. Your wife told me that you were out with people looking for other survivors." Realisation clicked in his gaze. "So, uh, did you…?"

"Oh, so you're her. I see the color has returned to your cheeks at least." He coughed and tried to ignore his wife's shrewd stare. "Your friend… well, he's in a bad shape, worse than you actually."

I managed to relax my tensing muscles at the news and exhaled, at least he was alive. "How bad?"

"Don' know, I ain' no healer. Bu' he looked pretty battered. If I thought you were lucky to be still breathing, that lad either have the blessings from the Maker 'imself or the shitest fortunes to be in that shape in the first place."

 _Maker? Like God? Maybe they are cultists. Nice cultists- but still, cultists._

I shifted from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. Then I asked the question burning on my mind. "So... where is he? A hospital nearby?"

"Me and the folks left him at the Chantry. Sister Adelaide knows best how to look after someone like 'im. But if she can't bring him back to shape, well I'm 'fraid there's nothing we can do for your friend."

Wait, _Chantry?_ _Chantry. Like, a chapel? If so, why are they calling it a chantry? Wasn't that a medieval term? What were they going to do? Prey that he get well soon?_ A sharp pang of annoyance filled me, followed by a stream of anger. _Why didn't they get him to a hospital?_

I squashed it down, maybe it's simply too far to move him? This place does seem to be in the middle of nowhere. "How far is the… Chantry?"

"Center of the village, building with the highest point and a sunburst at its tip. Ya can't miss it."

"Alright, thank you," I inclined my head, starting to beeline for the door. On my way, I said, "I'm going to go see him."

"Oh no," he stopped me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "He ain't awake yet. And best let Sister Adelaide take care of him for now. 'Sides, not much you can do for him, and if anything you'll only get in her way."

I stubbornly argued. "I should be there when he wakes up."

"Your friend will be fine, the good sister knows what she's doing."

"In the meantime," I heard a step on the floorboards and glanced to Yolande, her eyes coldly flashed. She spoke to me, but stared at her beau. "Ella, would you mind keepin' an eye on Jonathan for me? I need to have a word with me 'usband."

Goidermar visibly became still.

"Sure," I murmured, not eager to be in between a couple's spar. The boy smartly kept his mouth shut and Yolande icily stormed off to their bedroom. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, dragging his feet after her.

There was a click of the door, closing behind them. Then heated, muffled yelling from the scorned woman.

"So," I cleared my throat awkwardly, facing the boy. "Jonathan. How about that kite?"

His face lit up.

"Alright, first, we need to get the correct pieces." I instructed, whilst he eagerly listened. "Two long twigs. Some kind of big cloth, a knife or scissors and a thin rope, if you have all that."

"What are scissors?" His nose scrunched.

I blinked. _Wow. This family really is behind with the times, huh?_ "They're… y'know what, never mind, have you got a knife?"

"Papa has a sword and a dagger he uses to go huntin' sometimes." The said man was mumbling in the background behind the door, the screeching of his wife could've been heard from Russia. I shook my head. "They argue a lot."

I somberly smiled. "I don't think this is gonna be that serious though, you have nothing to worry about."

"Mama and papa usually make strange noises after every fight." His forehead crinkles. "They tell me to stay in my room and they go to bed early."

My eyes widened.

"Hey so, where are those sharp object-knife-things?" I quickly change the topic, and he walked over to a set of rickety draws before opening them. Jonathan passed me what resembled an old looking seax. A small, straight dagger with a silver body and a brass hilt. I placed it on the floor. "String? Rope? Twine? Anything like that?"

"Mama has thread in her room." _Which they're currently in._ "I think papa left some rope in the hen pen."

 _"Hen pen?"_

I grimaced at the thought of having to go in there, but one look at the pleading freckly face in front of me made me groan and gesture for him to lead the way. A bright grin split in his face and he grabbed my hand. I closed the door behind us and he impatiently pulled me toward a rough looking shed.

"Calm down, we got time." I lightly chuckled.

"Not enough!" He declared, but let go of my hand so he could open the hen pen doors.

The rusted, stiff doors creaked and almost instantly I was hit with a strong stagnant odor from inside that had me hesitating about walking any further. Bits of bird shit was sprinkled on the floor. Sleeping chickens was snuggling in their nests, a couple were awake and clucking at me the moment I stepped into the shed.

The rope was hanging off a nail on the wall right next to a nest. Reluctantly I leaned forward to grab it, letting out a string of curses and jumping back in fear when a chicken nearly pecked my fingers. Jonathan snorted and grabbed it for me, I sulkily followed him out.

"You're scared of _chickens_!" He cried with laughter.

"Not funny." I groused.

"They're _chickens_!"

"They're _evil_."

"You're the worst adult I've seen."

"Brat." He wiped tears forming in the corners of his bright eyes. Unable to stop the smile from twitching on my mouth at his joy, I gently pushed him, and he in turn retaliated.

We collected the other materials, laying them flat on the grass. Jonathan sat cross legged in front of me. I was tying around the tail. Constantly, he asked me more and more questions which turned from the kite to my life. I answered to the best of my ability but when he seemed confused through most of it so I turned the conversation on him instead.

"Do you have other family?"

"No. I'd like more. It gets lonely. Mama is getting too busy for me and papa is hunting all the time."

"Maybe you'll still be in luck." _Their parents don't seem to becoming abstinent any time soon._

"Really?" His eyes glistened with happiness. "D'ya think ya can stay? We could make more kites and stuff. Mama wouldn't mind if ya live with us!"

"Ah. Aha." I felt uncomfortable with letting him down but patted him on the head, playing with his hair. "It's getting late tiny man, we should probably head back. I'm getting tired."

He threw me a big smile. "You are old after all."

I rolled my eyes, poking him in the nose. "Cheeky little sod." He poked out his tongue. "And…. she's ready." I held my beauty up. It wasn't the best but I did well considering what I had to work with.

"Is… that it?" He looked unimpressed.

I laid it neatly behind me, holding the kite rope and readying into a stance. "Stay there. Watch me."

I broke into a slow jog, which developed into a fast sprint. I held up my hand behind me and slightly turned my body to an angle so I could look behind me and watch as the wind guided the kite to the air. It flowed up, being carried by the momentum of my run. When I finished my test, I stumbled to a stop in front of Jonathan, who was more than eager to have a go.

"Give it to me! Give it to me! My turn! My turn!" He snatched it from me and tried to run straight away. It didn't quite work, so I called him back.

"Okay, hold it up like this," I put the rope handle in his hand, angling his arm up. "I'll hold the tail and run behind you, okay?"

He nodded.

* * *

Music echoed throughout the woodlands, blaring from speakers and boomboxes set around the camp.

 _….I was doing something…._

The featherweight touch of my fingers drummed against the top of my knee.

I glanced around and shifted in my seat restlessly. A surge of energy jittered underneath my skin, puppeteering my leg to rapidly bounce. There was a tightening knot of frustration building up in my chest and I sharply exhaled.

 _What was I doing…?_

Four blissfully drunk teenagers happily stumbled passed me and I leaned back to avoid being hit by a stray hand when they slung their arms around each other and connected like a jagged centipede. They wavered from side to side as they attempted to stay up right, acting as though they were standing on slippery ice rather than the firm, hard ground coated with dirt and grass. A few discarded leaves from trees laid splattered, along with twigs and logs.

Laughter that reminded me of a donkey snorted out of a nearby boy sitting on a log opposite mine across the bon fire. His friend slapped his shoulder playfully, the corners of his eyes crinkled from his hazy glee and tears of joy leaked and splayed down his cheeks. An unattractive derisive snort grunted out of him.

A sigh huffed out of me. I arched forward and pressed the palm of my hand into my cheek. My eyes raised to the cackling flames. They danced and jumped in the slight breeze, popping and throwing a trail of smoke flowing up to the shadows of the sky.

 _There's… I was looking for someone…._

Judging by the way people are moving to the music, it also apparently made them think it gave you mad dancing skills. Let me tell you, it doesn't. It definitely doesn't.

Most people here were either grinding up against each other, influenced to lose their inhibitions, dancing, chattering in a slobbish slur very loudly over the crap tunes coming out of someone's iPod. Some mundane, mainstream autotune-filled shit that had repetitive lyrics.

A spark suddenly licked the floor and the encased fire slinked to the floor, wrapping around itself like a rising python. It slowly approached me, lava-like venom dripping from it's maw. It released a high pitched hiss in my face. The background blurred to formless colours and black smears.

 _Run._

Flames were curling around me, screams from the teenagers ringing in my ears. I felt my breaths become laboured, a sharp sting from the suffocating smoke invaded my lungs. They started crawling up my legs. The blistering heat burned through my clothes, growing closer to my skin. I was looking for someone. I didn't know who. But I sprinted through the dim forest, my mud crusted feet pounding along the floor. In the corner of my vision there were shadows chasing me.

A familiar shape formed in one of them, sending a nostalgic wave through my body.

 _The person I'm looking for?_

Frantic gasps and pants filtered through my burning chest. More yelling. Alarm bells went off like a giant gong. I lurched forward, pumping my arms either side of me.

I needed to go faster.

I was nearing a greenhouse, glass windows shattered, flames blackened the wood, debris sprawled to the ground. I kept my gaze on the rugged door. My shoulder slammed into the weak, hot wood. Distantly I heard a sickening crack, but ignored it and moved through the falling door.

I nearly toppled over at the sight in front of me.

It was one of the shadows. More deformed, taller. The creature was hunched over. I could hear disgusting slurping and crunching. It slowly turned around, craning its deformed neck to stare straight at me.

It's eyes were blood red, mouth filled with tiny, multiple incisors. It's big maw dripped with a crimson, syrup like substance and it fully spun to face me. It's face reminded me of a Picasso portrait with everything lopsided and despite it's distorted face, I could make out familiar features, which sent a trickle of ice down my spine.

"Dean." I choked.

" _ **Your fault**_ **.** "

Nails on a chalkboard didn't even cover the high pitched octave that came from his mouth. His voice was like scraping metal, screeching like an out of pitch instrument. The sound brought me to my knees, mildly scratching them. My throat tightened, making it even more impossible to breathe. Something warm and wet leaked out of my ears, I dabbed at my skin and brought it up level with my eyes.

Blood.

I couldn't even get his name out, before it sliced through my voice with it's own.

" _ **Your**_ _ ** fault**_."

It was overwhelmingly loud, like a trombone next to my face.

"Dean."

My body trembled, as he slowly rose. Unfolding from beneath him were eight black legs, razor sharp talons for feet. He knelt, predatory gaze latched onto my small form. _He's going to-_

" _ **YOUR FAULT!**_ "

"Stay away!"

He… it, screeched, an unholy, inhuman shrieking sound that could never have been from the throat of a normal human. The world twisted, the walls began to bend as though they were rubber, the inferno roaring as they leapt at least fifteen feet in the air, a firestorm of unnatural proportions, almost as though they were being fueled by very air itself. The screams around me rose in pitch, almost a ghostly howl, spectral in nature.

" _ **YOU DID THIS TO ME!**_ "

It screamed. The voices around me screamed. It took me while before I realised I was screaming too. The wall of fire surrounding me collapsed inwards, burning and licking at my skin. A dark shadow loomed in the flames, claws extended as it fell towards me.

I leapt up from the bed, waving my hands in a vain attempt to ward off the apparitions. A giant crack, followed by what sounded like an explosion and the screams of what sounded like a young child. I found myself picked up and flung against a wall, my face and arms stinging with pain. A second later I slammed back first into a hard surface, knocking the air out of my lungs, turning my pained cry into a choked gasp.

 _Wh… what…?_

The… _thing_ , was gone, so was the woodlands party and the inferno that all but consumed me seconds ago. Instead I found myself back in a nondescript room, lying flat on the ground on my front, a ringing sound in my ears as my vision struggled to orientate itself, breathless and sweating. The same room I woke up in earlier, I realised, remembering my predicament, eyes widening in shock as I took in the scene before me.

Where was once a humble abode now looked as though a whirlwind had tore through it, tables and chairs lay broken at the corner of the room as though someone had violently flung them against the wall. An snuffed out oil lamp was lodged firmly in the wall, beside a broken dresser and cabinet. Beside me, the bed I slept on was laying on its side, its sheets torn and bits of straw sticking out of them.

Most of all, the smoking hole in the wall directly in front of me.

It was only when the ringing in my ears began to fade did I finally noticed the wailing, a heart wrenching sound torn from the throat of a child in distress. And pain. I turned, a soundless sob escaping from between my lips when I saw the small form tucked by the door, rocking back and forth and bleeding heavily from the head.

"Oh my...god," I crawled over to him, speaking barely above a whisper. "J...Jonathan?"

"N...no!" he cried, his voice ragged and feebly trying to crawl away from me. His hands were covered in scratches, a piece of splinter lodged in his left elbow. "Mama! Mama!"

"Please…" I tried to help him, wobbly getting up on my knees and gasping when I saw the full extent on his head injuries. The side of his head looked almost scalped, bits of skin and hair stuck on raw flesh, blood flowing copiously from the injury. "Oh my god. Shit. Don't move, okay? Stop-"

He continued to scream, his voice wracked with agony. "No! Go away! Mama! **Maaaaa**!"

It was the palpable fear in his voice that made me step back. His eyes stopped my heart. Wide and accusing, blood mixed with tears as they streaked down his cheeks, looking at me as though… I've done something terrible. "Mama! Papa!"

Did… did I do that?

The door slammed open. Yolande, dressed in a thin shift and holding a candle in her arms, staring at me in slack jawed horror. "Andraste help us…" she whispered. "What…"

Immediately I tried to tell her he needed a hospital. "Y-Yolan-!"

"Stay back!" she screamed, darting forward and shielded her son with her body, holding up a hand in my direction. In that hand, a knife. "Don't come any closer!"

My hands shot up and I stumbled back, choking. "I- I'm not trying to hurt you- he needs help-!"

"You've done enough!" she waved the knife in my direction, hands trembling violently and voice quivering despite her brave front. Her shift began to turn red as Jonathan's head continued to bleed onto her clothes. "Go away!"

"I...I…"

"Leave them alone!"

I turned and raised my hands on reflex. A bright flash of light. Then a body tumbled to the ground, chest charred and a woodcutting axe slipping from his now lifeless fingers. Yolande screamed.

 _I… did I just… oh god..._

Outside, the bells from the village rang.

I turned and ran out through the hole I made in the wall as the first shouts began to echo in the distance.


	3. Chapter 3

"Apostate!"

"Where is she? Where is she?"

Air slipped in and out of my mouth. My throat constricted tightly. It was hard to breathe, though not for the reasons you may fathom. Rather, it was because I was hiding in a sty, crouched down in the deepest, darkest corner that I could find with my hands clasped over my mouth, at first to silence my cries. Now it served a more practical purpose of preventing the smell from overwhelming me. The pig sharing my pen stared up and me with its dumb, beady eyes from its questionably comfortable spot atop a pile of dirty hay, turning away and lowering its head back down when it finally lost interest in me to go back to sleep. It seemed almost peaceful, without a care in the world and certainly none for the ruckus going on outside.

"The women and children! Brin' them to the Chan'ry where it's safe! Someone send for the templars!"

I gagged despite myself, the lingering smell of burnt flesh and the stench of the sty threatening to force the dinner I ate out from my mouth. The bitter taste of bile at the back of my throat did not help matters at all. I bit down on my hand, hard. The pain helped, maybe.

More footsteps, people rushing about in a sense of urgency that only came when they believed their home was being threatened. The bells of the church, the Chantry, I corrected myself, continued its toll, it's peals echoing throughout the village.

"Where's the fucking ealdorman? What do we do?"

"Spread out and look for 'er, bands of five minimum. Be on your guard, she's already taken the lives of one of our own and is extremely dangerous. Call out for 'elp when or if you do find 'er, and do not fucking play the 'ero! I ain't gonna be the one to explain to yer wives why ye didn' return 'ome or drag ye bloody crisp corpses back to ye cryin' families. Until the baron or the Chantry sends 'elp, we're the only protection our town 'as."

"Aye. Oi Yugen! Grab yer bow, we're hunting down this murderin' bitch!"

"Hugh, Noln, with me. Doyle, grab an 'orse from Derric and ride to Kirkwall. And someone head over to Goidermar's household, see if they need any 'elp."

I swallowed a sob, curling even further into my little stinking corner. I could hear the pulsating of my heart, threatening to explode against my chest.

"But… what if she turns into a demon?" Someone amongst the crowd asked.

There was a brief pause. The leader broke it. "Then we're fucked. Pray it don't 'appen, or for Andraste to extend her blessin's to our folk shel'erin' in the Chan'ry."

Yeah, that's me. A seventeen year old, 5'5 ft girl from London, one year through college with a small part time retail job on the side, the bane and terror of the people.

Murderer. I choked back another sob at the thought, how they took me in and how I had decidedly to repay them, only to end up suppressing the urge to retch. This time, I was unable to hold back, the nauseating taste of bile causing my stomach to heave. I doubled over, expunging the dinner and gastric juices in a vile, yellowish stream. The pig beside me let out a loud, and almost comical were it not for the situation, squeal of surprise as it rolled away, startled awake.

Almost as if heralding my doom, that tiny commotion was the spark that stirred the swine napping in the sty. First, the duo in the neighbouring sty began stirring, then the one adjacent to them. Before I knew it, half the bloody sty was awake, and the one I originally woke had trotted back to me, sniffing at the gooey mess I left in its pen. And much to my disgust, began licking it.

I retched up another stream of vomit, and again until I was dry heaving, my throat burning and my back aching.

In addition to the smell, pigs, as I had just now discovered, are loud.

Loud enough to draw unwanted attention from the militia.

"What in the bloody void was tha'?" I overheard the fat one question.

Fuck me. Death by pigs, unbelievable.

"Probably 'er, search the pigsty. Call out if you find 'er."

Oh for fuck sak-

I quickly got down on my belly, ignoring the filth, and my own vomit, clinging onto my clothes, my borrowed dress becoming damp from god knows what. I refused to even think about it, holding my breath and began to crawl under the small gap of the pen. There was a hole in the wall two pens down, that's how I got in, except I wasn't crawling then.

My fingers touched something wet. I ignored it, and would've felt proud for my self control if I hadn't got bigger priorities to concern myself with. To add further insult to injury, the pigs didn't like me intruding, their high pitched squeals almost painful to my ears.

Pigs were also heavy, as I discovered when one of them stepped on my hand as I crawled into the pen where the hole was. Heavy enough for the weight to hurt a lot. A strangled rasp escaping my lips as my mouth opened and closed in soundless pain, rolling onto my back and clutching my arm tight against my chest. Fucker.

I bit down on my lip as I suppressed any sounds that may give me away. Don't think about it, I told myself. If I didn't get away, if I let them catch me… Don't think about it. I repeated the phrase like a mantra. Rolling myself back onto my front, I continued my crawl to the hole in the wall.

Almost there.

I bit back the urge to start gasping at the first whiff of fresh air as I neared the final stretch, least I gave myself away. Nearby, my hunters began to check the stalls one by one. My fingers grasped at the edge of the hole, the breeze outside tickled my nose as a smile tugged away at my lips.

Something tugged at my leg, pulling me backwards.

No!

I turned halfway on my back, seeing one of the pigs biting away at my borrowed dress, shaking its head as it tried to tear the woollen fabric. Stifling a cry of frustration, I kicked away at its nose with my bare foot. It refused to let go, tugging almost violently as I kicked again, before finally managing to free myself, accompanied by a loud rip as it managed to tear a strip off my skirt in the process.

Unfortunately for me, the pig that munched away at my dress was an aggressive one, and interpreted my actions as a challenge. It swiped at my foot with its head before I could try to escape, sending a sharp stab of pain up my leg as it's small tusks tore into my calf.

A small cry slipped from my slips before I could stop myself.

"Oi! She's hiding in here!"

Panicking, and partly out of spite, I gave the hog another kick on its snout, scrambling for the hole and pulling myself through it, cutting myself in the progress as the rough wooden edges tore at my skin. Picking a direction at random, I broke off into a sprint.

The voices yelled after me in the distance, an angry poison dripping from the words. My feet slammed against the floor, stumbling over stray placed logs and overgrown roots. I caught myself on the nearby bark, scraping the palm of my hands. It was a faint pain, but nothing compared to the molten burn in my lungs.

"Over here! Fetch the hounds!"

"Fuck!" I cried, stumbling slightly as I slowed down. The sounds came from every direction. There's nowhere for me to go. I pressed my hands against my mouth, ignoring how filthy it was and sobbed, trembling with fear, my knees numbing. I pictured myself at their mercy, being tied to a stake and burned or perhaps lynched.

The tips of my fingers fizzled, my ears ringing. I dropped to my knees, my mind numb.

 _If... if only..._

The thought of taking even more lives, innocent lives, sickened me to the core. But my fear began to outweigh my morality, terrified of what might happen when they did catch me. It might be a mercy if I forced them to kill me instead of trying to take me alive.

 _Maybe..._

What happened at the house was horrific. If I could take it back, I would. I would've walked out the house and just ignored their hospitality, just headed straight for the chantry- I wouldn't have been in that situation, I wouldn't have stayed. I wouldn't have hurt them…

But…

 _If it came down between me or the people hunting me down… perhaps… perhaps I could do it again._

I couldn't seriously be possibly thinking about committing mass murder? Not after—

 _Not murder, self defence. What happened at the house too was done in self defence. None of this would've happened if he had just left you alone. He was scared, he feared for the safety of his family. They were all just afraid, they—_

And so am I! _I too feared for my life, and now are treating me like I'm some kind of rabid animal. A monster. How is that even fair?_

 _They were just going to kill me, without trial. What gave them the right?_

But…

I hadn't done anything wrong!

 **They don't care.** My chest burned with righteous fury, burning hotter than fire itself. Just waiting to be unleashed. I could practically taste it, my fingers burning with anticipation. _They want you dead. Their justice._

 _They can try._

I didn't deserve to die pathetically in some backwater village of technologically regressed inbred morons. I'm going to live. I'm going to survive. And if those idiots wanted to get in the way of that, then they shall have the violence they asked for. They—

"Oi! Heads up!"

I sharply inhaled as something freezing engulfed my body, soaking through the rough dress draped over my skin. I blinked, gasping as the cold water chilled me to the bone, making it almost painful to breath for a few short seconds. What the hell...! Teeth chattering, I peeled the wet strands of hair from my face, blinking a few times to clear my vision. Why the hell-?!

Peering down at me was a man I'd never seen before, and grasped in his hands was an empty wooden bucket dripping with remnants of water. I couldn't see him very well, his features clouded by the big grey hood covering half of his face. I could only see the smirk twitch in the corners of his mouth.

My heart painfully beat in my chest, drumming in my ears.

"Not to sound too forward, love," he casually chucked the bucket to the side, and it bounced once and rolled down the steep dirt path. His hand wrapped around my forearm and he yanked me up to my feet as if I weighed nothing. "But if you wanna live, I'd suggest coming with me."

"W-who-" I tried to splutter out, wrestling with his iron vice grip. He cut me off before I could form the sentence and practically dragged me along the floor, not seeming to notice or care that my feet couldn't keep up with him.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he mumbled under his breath, not bothering to look at me, "but shut up." he hauled me around a corner, where a cart was parked, saddled up to a horse who seemed oblivious to the din around it. "C'mon, into one of the barrels— ah fuck it. Get under the cart." He paused momentarily when I froze and stared at him. Mystery man turned toward me. "Now."

The tone in his voice left no room for argument, and made me kick my arse in gear. Between a rock and a hard place is the saying. But I had no time to properly weigh the pros and cons. It was straight forward for me. Angry mob that would burn me alive, or rude-mystery-man that could potentially save my life.

He had good timing, at the very least. A small party of five, no, six, thundered down the path where I came from, armed with a variety of farming tools, wood axes and boar spears.

"She went down that way!" my mystery saviour shouted at them, pointing down the road. "Hurry!"

The villagers didn't question him, and went down the path the stranger pointed. Under normal circumstances, I would've rolled my eyes or bemoaned the use of the classic cliched misdirection. Now? It's a god sent miracle, one that I'm not about to complain about.

I'm actually surprised it worked. Perhaps they really were inbred bastards.

Somehow, through a combination of exhaustion and mental fatigue, and despite the fact that I was drenched and freezing, I must have fell asleep, because the same man had to nudge me awake. And by nudge I meant he ended up kicking the side of the cart rather loudly when his initial attempts to wake me bore no fruit.

"Come on now, out you pop," he said as I awkwardly craned my head to look at him. He wiggled his fingers in an almost friendly wave. "Time for you to get into the barrel this time, we're leaving this sorry place."

I gripped the side of the cart, grunting as I pulled myself out, body shaking uncontrollably and limbs numb from the cold. My leg burned and my muscles screamed in protest. I roughly collided with the ground, and let out a small groan. Once again I felt the familiar sensation of his fingers gripping my arm, lifting me upright. My head ducked, shoulders scrunching up as I wrapped my arms around myself. He draped his cloak around my shoulders. It didn't help much with the cold, but it was still something.

My voice was soft and barely audible to my own ears. "W...why?"

"Questions later," he muttered simply, hoisting me up the cart. "Let's get you somewhere safe first."

Under normal circumstances I would've protested and walked the other way. He was a stranger, he could be anyone. What's to say he didn't have any ill intentions? Or god forbid, a human trafficker. But the past hour had worn me out so much that I couldn't find it in me to care for much beyond the fact that he was the only one in the vicinity who wasn't actively trying to hurt or kill me, and actually trying to help.

Nodding numbly, I stood there quietly and waited as he opened the lid on one of the barrels. It smelled slightly of fish, but overall it wasn't too bad. Nothing stunk was worse than the damn sty.

I climbed into the barrel and squat down. The lid closed above me, throwing me into almost complete darkness except for the light slipping through a tiny hole in the side. I swallowed and hugged my legs close to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. Through the small hole, I caught a glimpse of his cloak moving past.

There was two knocks on the lid. "Keep quiet yeah? Don't want them to know you're hiding down there."

I couldn't muster a response and I didn't think he wanted one. Instead I buried my face between my knees, shaking slightly as I let the day's events replay in my head. In the solitude of the barrel, tears dampened my cheeks, my silent cries went unheard as the cart rocked and slowly began to move.


End file.
